


Yeah, I Know

by clandestinerabbit



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Gen, aka five conversations Shawn and Josh had, mostly manly bonding and Feeny-type advice, with a bit of Maya/Uncle Josh because I am weak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23194198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clandestinerabbit/pseuds/clandestinerabbit
Summary: Sitting in a coffee shop with a very nervous Josh Matthews about to ask him a very important question, Shawn remembers how they got to this point.
Relationships: Maya Hart/Josh Matthews, Shawn Hunter & Josh Matthews
Comments: 3
Kudos: 135





	Yeah, I Know

Josh sits across the table with an untouched coffee in front of him, his fingers drumming against the ceramic mug, his knee bouncing like a piston. Sipping his own coffee, Shawn watches over the rim. He knows what’s coming. Been expecting it for awhile, to be honest, though it isn’t really necessary—but those Matthews could be old-fashioned, and Josh would want to do the thing properly.

“Got something you want to talk about there, buddy?” Shawn says finally, when his cup’s half empty and nothing’s been said.

Josh relaxes, just a little. His hand goes to his jacket pocket and sneaks inside, probably to palm the little thing making the lump Shawn noticed before they sat down. “Yeah. I do.”

* * *

The first time Shawn ever talked to Joshua Matthews, it was because of Cory. Of course. As long as Shawn could remember, almost everything that mattered had been because of Cory. Certainly everything good, everything that helped him make sense of his messed-up life, everything that he cared about—though Shawn would never have said any of that at the time. Teenage boys aren’t know for that kind of self-introspection. Even he, so prone to emotionally-driven decisions, could only fumble around the edges of what their friendship meant to him. He didn’t really come to terms with it until he had run, again, and stayed away long enough to see the space their friendship left behind as it changed into something else—still something important and extraordinary, but not as vital as it had been when they were growing up. For either of them. But at that point he could still only go so far as to think “then what do I do, if Cory doesn’t need me?” So he went where he had long gone when the road didn’t give him answers (which was always): the Matthews’.

Not Cory and Topanga’s tiny apartment in the city; that would be counter-productive and there wasn’t space, anyway. No. He hitched up his pants and took himself and his beat-up backpack direct to the Matthews’ house in Philly, landing on their back doorstep at ten o’clock at night with no more warning than a call from a pizza place a half-hour outside of town. He hadn’t been surprised when his fingers still knew the number by heart. Mr. and Mrs. Matthews might’ve been, but they didn’t show it; instead they gave him a bowl of cereal and sent him to bed in what had been a sewing room and now appeared to be for guests. He slept the sleep of the dead, that first night, and didn’t wake up until nearly noon.

Stumbling down the back stairs into the kitchen the next morning, he stopped short at the sight of a small, tousled brown head at the table. _Morgan_ , he thought, briefly, before remembering that duh, Morgan was in junior high (and also blonde now) so this had to be Josh.

As though he felt Shawn’s eyes on him, the kid turned around and regarded him evenly. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” Shawn moved slowly off the bottom step, fighting the urge to put both hands in front of him like Josh was an unfamiliar dog who could spring at him at any moment. “How’s it going?”

“Good.”

That said, Josh was apparently finished with the conversation and turned back to whatever he was eating. Shawn ran a hand over his hair—old habits died hard—and decided he could probably still rummage in the fridge and get some juice, even if it had been a couple years. The glasses hadn’t moved. The juice was now apple instead of orange, but he could live with that. Pouring himself a glass, he sat down at the table across from Josh and took a swig, trying to think what to do now.

“Mommy said you could make a grilled cheese if you want.”

“Oh, uh. I’m okay right now. Maybe later.”

Josh nodded and bit his own sandwich. It did not appear to be a grilled cheese, but Shawn didn’t question. “So,” he asked instead, “where’s your mom?”

“Doing laundry. She said don’t wake you up.”

“Thanks.”

He took another sip of juice for something to do. Josh chewed without blinking. Which was a little creepy, Shawn thought, because weren’t kids supposed to be wiggly and talkative? That was what he had heard, anyway. He didn’t have a lot of experience with...four-year-olds. Josh would be four, because his dad had been dead four years and two months last week. Shawn glanced to the side, just in case, but Chet apparently had nothing to say about relating to little boys or how to build your life when your former bedrock shifted under you. Whoa, no way.

Luckily, Josh seemed to have decided he was the host and responsible for the conversation. “You know my brother.”

“Yeah, I know both your brothers.”

“My brother Cory,” Josh clarified. “And Topanga.”

“I do.”

“They had a baby Riley.”

“Yeah,” he said again, ignoring the pang shooting through his chest, “I know. I was there when she was born.”

“I wasn’t. I didn’t see her.”

“When she was born?” At 6 o’clock in the morning, seven pounds four ounces, and twenty-one inches long. He hadn’t meant to memorize the stats, but he had anyway.

“Nuh-uh.” Josh shook his head. “I didn’t see her _yet_. Only pictures.”

Shawn didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. Josh didn’t mind.

“Riley is the baby now. I’m not the baby anymore.”

“No, I guess not.” Then, because it wasn’t fair to make a kid carry the entirety of a conversation, Shawn took another gulp of juice and asked a question of his own, hesitantly: “Does that make you...sad?”

He had heard somewhere that little kids could have a hard time when they were used to their lives being one way and then it changed. Or had he?

“No!”

Shawn blinked. “No?”

“Noooo. I’m not a baby! Riley can be the baby and I’ll be Josh.”

Taking another bite, Josh nodded emphatically, somehow managing to chew even though the bite seemed bigger than his mouth. Thankfully he didn’t try to speak around it, giving Shawn a chance to get himself together. There was probably some English term for what had just happened to him—not metaphor, not subtext, Jon had done his best but all that stuff never stuck—anyway, whatever it was, it happened in real life to Shawn Patrick Hunter sitting at the Matthews’ kitchen table listening to his best friend’s four-year-old brother. One sentence said, another sentence understood. If Josh didn’t need to be the baby, he could just...be...Josh. Whatever that meant. And maybe that was a...good thing?

“Is Shawn up, Josh?”

Mrs. Matthews’ voice drifted up the stairs and Josh managed to swallow enough to gargle out “yes” which, Shawn didn’t think it was loud enough for her to hear but either she had crazy sensitive ears or she didn’t care, because she started the lecture before the laundry basket even edged into the kitchen. “Now, you’re an adult and you can do what you want, but when you do that you owe it to the people who care about you to let them know what you’re doing. Think about how you felt when your father...”

Shawn deserved the lecture. He took it like a man. Josh finished his sandwich and slid down from the table halfway through, but not before shoving his cookie in Shawn’s direction. The kid, he decided, was all right.

He stayed with the Matthews about a week that time, eating decent food and researching the countless paths now open to him, Shawn Hunter, whoever the heck that was. Then he set out on one of them, waving back at Josh.

The first thing he did when he got to wherever-it-was (with the distance of time, he couldn’t always remember the course his wanderings had taken) was set up a PO box and shlep off two envelopes of photos: one to Cory and Topanga, full of pictures of that crazy night-and-a-day when their lives had changed forever, and one to the Matthews with a few family candids and a Post-it scribbled with _thanks_. No one was going to accuse him of disappearing like his father again; if he knew one thing about himself, it was that he _never_ wanted the people he cared about to think they couldn’t count on him. He might be a pathetic tumbleweed rolling around in the wind, but he was going to blow into town when it mattered.

So he showed up. The next few years of his life remained in his memory as one long blur of falling into the next thing punctuated by clear, crisp snapshots of being present: Topanga’s graduation from law school, Cory’s first day of teaching, a couple Christmases at the Matthews’ in Philly. If those days were the only ones worth remembering, he didn’t let himself think about it too much; they were also the days that hurt more than anything else. It didn’t matter. He had long since accepted that all-good things didn’t happen for him and he would have to take what he could get and be grateful. And it wasn’t so bad, he admitted to himself one Christmas, siting on the stairs and watching Riley from the corner of his eye. Not how he wanted his life to go, but not so bad.

The garland quivered as Josh plopped onto the step above him with a sigh only a twelve-year-old could manage. One bony knee poked Shawn’s shoulder. “I wish Maya was here.”

“Who’s Maya?” Shawn asked, carefully avoiding any inflection in his voice. He might’ve been very interested in girls at Josh’s age, but he knew it was by no means a given.

“Maya’s Riley’s friend. She comes to parties and things sometimes when her mom has to work.”

“Is she fun?”

Josh made a noise to signify he didn’t know and couldn’t be bothered to find out. “When she’s here Riley plays with her and they mostly leave me alone. It was okay when I was a kid, but I don’t really want to play Ponies anymore.”

“That seems fair.”

“Yeah, but.” Another heavy sigh. “Then I hafta give her a turn on my DS and she doesn’t pay attention. And then she gives Auggie a turn, but he’s only one! No matter how many times I ask her not to, she _always forgets_.”

Watching Riley careen into the furniture as she twirled around to make her new fluffy skirt fly out around her, Shawn believed Josh 100%. This was classic Cory. “Can you tell her you won’t let her play with it if she lets Auggie have a turn?”

“I’m supposed to be understanding. But it’s a delicate piece of technology. Want to see?”

Upon Shawn’s professing himself delighted to see, Josh pulled the thing out of his pocket and booted it up to show off his progress in some kind of Pokemon game. His old knowledge impressed Josh appropriately—though Shawn had maybe never felt so old as he did watching the characters from the trading cards spin and dart around the screen—as did his dexterity when offered a turn of his own with Josh hanging over his shoulder to give advice.

“Can I ask you something?” Josh asked midway through the level.

Shawn tried not to let his natural panic at that question appear in his voice. “Sure, kiddo.”

“Is it easier not to have a family to worry about?”

The game made a sad noise as Shawn jumped and let his Totodile fall, but Josh was too busy staring hard at the step in front of him to care. “I mean, you get to do what you want when you want and you don’t have to ask anybody’s permission or worry about how they feel about it. That must be cool.”

“It’s not.”

He had never understood it in books when words were “rapped out”, but that’s exactly what his did: hit Josh hard and hollow, making the kid wince and pull his knees up to his chest. Shawn regretted them instantly.

“Sorry, Mom says we’re not supposed to say anything about it. I shouldn’t have asked. Sorry.”

It wasn’t okay—it really, _really_ wasn’t—but Josh clearly felt bad and there wasn’t a point in making him feel worse. And if that’s what was on his mind, for whatever reason, Shawn had to say _something_ to pull him back. “I do have a family.”

“You do?” Josh peeked over his knees. “I thought they all—”

“What,” he cut Josh off quickly to keep the words from coming out, “you think I’d spend Christmas with any group of randos? Like I told you the first time I saw you, this is my family right here. They’re as good as it gets.”

“They’re weird,” Josh said skeptically. “You’ve met Eric, right?”

“Okay, yeah. But they also love you, no matter what. I mean, if they love Eric...”

Josh smirked at that, still curled in on himself, and Shawn knew he had his attention. “Plus,” he said, leaning in until Josh met his eyes and lowering his voice, “plus, here’s a little secret: not having anyone in your life you worry about just means you don’t have anyone in your life you care about. That stinks. Don’t ever wish for that. The rest of it’s not worth it.”

For a second, Shawn had the weird feeling that he had been inhabited by the Spirit of Feeny Past, pinning this kid to the spot like a three-hundred-pound wrestler. It was weird. He had never thought in his life that he would be in a position to Feeny someone. And, to do Josh credit, he didn’t squirm away or try to get out of the lock; he held the look and thinned out his lips, clearly listening. Actually listening. Weird.

“You know,” Josh said soberly. “If you want to be cool the kids say ‘sucks’ now. As in, ‘It would suck to not have anyone to care about.’ Or ‘I’m going to be cooler than you someday, and that will suck.’ “

“Oh really,” Shawn said, recognizing the attempt to move the conversation away from the serious talk.

“Yeah. I probably shouldn’t have told you, but I want to beat you fair and square, you know.”

“Sucks that’s never gonna happen.”

Josh grinned and pointed to the forgotten game. “Best two out of three for all the cool points?”

“You’re on.”

Before they could do more than reboot it, though, Riley hopped up the stairs, demanding to know what they were doing. Shawn stiffened. Next to him, Josh unfolded his limbs with an air of resignation. “Playing the DS. Do you...do you want a turn?”

“Goody, goody!” Riley clapped her hands as Josh took the game from Shawn and handed it to her. “Thank you, Uncle Josh!”

“It’s okay.” Then, as Riley collapsed on the stairs in a floof of skirt, Josh made an extra-special effort: “If you want, I could show you how to defeat the fifth Gym Leader?”

“Yes!”

Shawn took that as his cue to leave. He could do with a cup of coffee after dealing out so much adult advice, plus he didn’t see Cory in the front room and might be able to snag him in the kitchen for a catch-up. No matter how much they talked on the phone, he could always spend more time with his best friend.

Cory looked up when he came through the door, two mugs already on the table in front of him. “Take a seat, Shawnie. Been awhile. Unless you’ve decided to confide in my brother now.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” Shawn said, yanking out the chair and plopping into it.

“What were the two of you talking about, anyway?”

“Nothing much.” He took a sip of coffee. “He’s a good kid.”

And a good kid he remained, as far as Shawn could tell. According to his Facebook feed, Josh got good grades, played lacrosse, took a different girl to every dance but didn’t appear to be serious about any of them, visited New York regularly, and made some truly questionable fashion choices. Well, who didn’t at that age. According to Cory, Josh was smart and thoughtful—“more like Topanga than either of us, and definitely nothing like Eric”—according to Topanga, Josh had all the weird Matthews quirks but seemed likely to temper them with their virtues. Not like they talked about Josh a lot. But they had to talk about _something_ , and the longer he was away from New York the harder it was to listen to Cory talk about his perfect life. The harder it was to pretend his own life was everything he wished it was. It was easier to talk about things at a distance from both of them.

“They’re coming here for Christmas this year,” Cory said once after Shawn asked about the family. “You could come too, Shawnie. It’s been a long time. We’d love to have you.”

Shawn said he’d think about it, like he always did. He meant to let some time pass and then say no, like he always did. But before he could, a message appeared in his DMs:

> i don’t know if youre planning to come for Christmas this year but cory’s talking like you are for sure
> 
> if you aren’t maybe let him no
> 
> he’ll mope otherwise

Mope? Yes, he would. Perfect word choice. Flop around with a miniscule effort at covering his pout, making Topanga roll her eyes and Mrs. Matthews work extra hard to cover for him. Oh, Shawn had seen it before.

_I hadn’t decided_ , he wrote back. _I might be out of town._

> you could be out of town in nyc. its cool at Christmas

Shawn jumped a little at the immediate response. What time was it in Philly, 3 a.m.? He checked the clock. 1:30. Not out of the question for a seventeen-year-old kid. Cool guys didn’t berate seventeen-year-old kids for being up past midnight, so Shawn told himself to stop being so old and ignored it. _I hear that. People don’t need to be told New York at Christmas is cool._

> true
> 
> sometimes they have to be told its cool to spend Christmas with their family tho

Ouch. Right for the throat. He pushed back from the sticky motel desk, drumming his fingers against his left and staring at the screen. Where exactly did little Josh Matthews get the nerve to say something like that at 1:30 a.m. on a Tuesday morning? Shouldn’t he be studying AP Chemistry or something like that, not lobbing emotional Molotov cocktails at his brother’s best friend? _Hang on, it doesn’t_

> my mom thinks its gonna be a nightmare and would rather stay home just the three of us since morgan’s in seattle and eric’s
> 
> you know
> 
> dad and i said no way. That’s not the way Matthews do things. but it could be hideous
> 
> maybe if you came you could be a distraction? idk
> 
> also
> 
> i think I’ve probably beat you in cool so if you want to keep the title youll have to prove it

That was smooth, he admitted. Slide it in as a favor, appeal to his ego—he hadn’t honed his skills in sweet talk for nothing, he knew when he was being played. The best thing to do would be to prick the kid’s ego like a balloon, let him know he couldn’t get away with that kind of thing here. Older lion batting down the young cub. He wasn’t going to be manipulated by a kid.

_Yeah, I’m really worried about the coolness level of someone who thinks ignoring the rules of capitalization makes them hip._

> what about ee cummings
> 
> see you at Christmas

He never admitted that a large part of why he agreed to go that particular Christmas was so that he wouldn’t look chicken in front of a guy he remembered as a tiny baby in a box wearing a diaper too big for his body. He never stopped being grateful. That Christmas literally changed his life—ended his headlong flight from the happiness he couldn’t have and started him down the path to the happiness he could. The irony didn’t escape him, of course, that if he hadn’t been so afraid he might’ve spent less time being miserable; then again, if he hadn’t spent all those years going nowhere he might not have been ready for his happiness when it came. Who knows. Who knows anything, as Maya was wont to say.

That Christmas changed Josh’s life, too, but Shawn didn’t find out about that until Cory called him one Sunday afternoon in the fall, barely hiding his glee. Up at the cabin packing up his kitchen stuff, Shawn gratefully poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, prepared for A Tale. If Cory had something quick to say he had come around to texting but for a good gossip there was nothing like the old school.

“So,” Cory said, “who’d a thunk: my brother, your daughter.”

This was oblique even for Cory. “Your brother my daughter what.”

“Shawnie.”

That, on the other hand, was perfectly clear. “Your brother my daughter _what?_ ”

He put his cup down and started pacing, two steps forward and two steps back between the boxes. “Are you _serious_? What happened on this ski trip, Cory, and why did you let it?”

“First, it wasn’t a ski trip, do you think I’m still that dumb? Second, the Triangle finally died, Shawn, this is reason to rejoice!”

“Yay, goody, woohoo. What happened with Maya and Josh?”

“Well, let me set the scene for you—”

“I’ve been to the Mount Sun Lodge. Cut to the chase.”

Cory sighed heavily, obviously regretting the story he’d been rehearsing who-knew-how-long. Tough. “Nothing happened. Not yet. Except my baby brother finally realized that this is a comparatively short time in a life and three years isn’t always going to be too long.”

“Are you _sure_.”

Cory’s voice took on the tone that meant his mouth was making that weird _I’m insulted_ shape Shawn couldn’t describe in words if he tried. “Yes, I’m sure, we had eyes on the whole time. I must say I feel a little insulted on my brother’s behalf at your insinuations. What kind of person do you think he is?”

“I think he’s eighteen,” Shawn said, swallowing back memories of himself at that age, “we’ve been there, we know you’re stupid when you’re eighteen.”

“Speak for yourself: when I was eighteen I knew enough to say yes when Topanga proposed. I was a genius.”

Years of practice enabled Shawn to keep from snorting outright. Plus, the lump in his throat kind of stoppered any another emotion. “That was Topanga and you know it. We were idiots. We tried to bribe Feeny with omelets.”

“Okay, maybe,” Cory allowed. “But we knew how to treat girls.”

“Girls our own age! We didn’t hang out with fifteen-year-olds! It’s a crime in this state, you know!”

“Are you sitting down?” Cory asked. “I feel like you need to be sitting down.”

Shawn collapsed into a nearby chair, switching his phone to the other ear. He had kind of guessed that if he ever had a kid he would love them to the danger of smothering them, but lately it had felt like he had been living his whole life with one emotional arm tied behind his back; the sheer force of love and joy coursing through him took his breath away with its power. He should have guess that meant all the bad stuff would be stronger as well. “I just,” he said, “I just thought I’d have more time.”

“You do. You do have time, buddy. She’s still only fifteen.”

Cory’s voice had become what Shawn privately thought of as “Feeny-lite”—meant to be very reassuring and wise, but still a little too self-aware to hit the mark. Maybe he should just call Feeny for a chat. Cory still did sometimes, he knew. Not having Feeny-wisdom at the moment, however, he made do. “You can feel a lot when you’re fifteen.”

“Yeah, but fortunately you still have parents to help you make sense of it.”

“There’s no making sense of getting your heart broken.”

Cory let a minute of silence pass; he knew better than anyone how much experience Shawn had with that particular kind of pain. Then, carefully, he said, “Maya’s already had her heart broken by someone a lot more important than a boy. She knows how to deal with it.”

“Why do you think I don’t want it to happen to her again? I just want to keep all the bad stuff away from her forever.”

“Welcome to fatherhood.”

Shawn dropped his head over the back of the chair. “Why’d I want to do this so bad again?”

“Because you also get to sit in a chair and watch them smile.”

Oh, right. That. That which he would (and had) empty out his bank account for; that which sat at a comfortable-if-definite two on his new priority list after _love Katy better than anyone ever has_.

“Anyway, Shawn, you’re getting way ahead of yourself. Nothing happened yet. Nothing’s happening now. Maya’s got a good head on her shoulders, and my brother is a good kid. You told me that yourself.”

“Yes, but—”

“No _but_ , buddy. Wait and see. It’ll be all right.”

“How do you know?”

“Shawn, I _know_.”

Some things, Shawn accepted, you did just _know_. And, though Cory had willful blind spots the size of his head sometimes, he also had a propensity to startling insight when you least expected it. And he had much better chances to observe the situation. So, this once, Shawn decided to cave to Cory’s attempt at a Feeny and calm down for the time being. There were other things to be freaked out about at that particular moment—like, what kind of husband could a guy who had lived with a raccoon for three years be? and how did he own not one but two teabag squeezers?—and Cory was probably right to point out that Maya was only fifteen. Wasn’t he, Shawn, living proof that the life you plan at fifteen (a) rarely happens (be is rarely what you want, anyway?

He did follow Cory’s advice, though. His long-term vague interest in Josh Matthews grew pointed and penetrating (though unfortunately the youths had left Facebook en masse and he had to resort to skulking around Twitter and Instagram. One couldn’t be too obvious). Wait and see, Cory said. Well, Shawn waited and saw: College Josh seemed to be pretty much the same guy as High School Josh, only instead of being a good kid he showed all the signs of turning into a good man. He volunteered. He posted goofy pictures with Auggie. He TA’ed for a few different professors. He had a girlfriend for awhile but refrained from being nauseating about it and, when they broke up in junior year, kept the details to himself. Most importantly, he never—as far as Shawn knew—stepped one toe over the line where Maya was concerned.

It could have been so easy. Shawn knew his girl. He had known from the first that she had stars in her eyes for Josh Matthews, and he knew from personal experience how eagerly you could jump at anything that might possibly be the love you were looking for. Even if you knew better. But Josh didn’t offer the opportunity—didn’t flirt or tease, didn’t presume or pretend, didn’t stare or loom. In fact, as the years went on Shawn would’ve started to doubt there was anything between them at all, except for two things: Cory’s confidence (not a thing to take lightly) and the weird ritual that passed between them every time they saw each other. He asked Katy once if she knew what it was about, the handshake and its accompanying question, but his wife professed ignorance. “Long Game is what they call their agreement,” she said. “I don’t know more than that. Maya doesn’t really talk about it.”

“And that doesn’t worry you?”

“Why would it? You’re already worried enough for both of us. I’ll worry about something else.”

She kissed the wrinkle between his eyebrows and he let it go in the moment, but he didn’t forget. He just observed some more, confused but quiet, until a few weeks after Maya’s eighteenth birthday, when she went to coffee _alone_ with Josh and came home with red-rimmed eyes. Shawn tamped down his desire to drive immediately to NYU to have it out with the punk and called Cory instead.

“I don’t know for sure what happened,” Cory said, “but I have a guess, and it’s not what you think. Come to dinner on Sunday. Bring the family. It’s gonna be okay.”

It sounded like the beginning of a scheme. Sure enough, Josh also came for dinner—not receiving a handshake this time, sitting as far away from Maya as possible and looking, it had to be said, pretty anxious-eyed himself. But nothing happened during dinner, and afterwards Maya and Riley disappeared into Riley’s Magic Bay Window while Auggie, now a sturdy eleven, scooped up Shawn’s son Zane to play with Legos on the living room floor and Josh appeared to be checking on his laundry. Not sure what he was supposed to do, Shawn sat in the less-magical bay window, waiting for Cory to tell him what came next.

“Do you mind if I sit down?”

Shawn looked up. Josh shifted from foot-to-foot, hands shoved faux-casually in his front pockets; his shoulders dropped forward like he was bracing himself. “Not my house,” Shawn said. “How could I mind?”

Josh’s mouth opened, then closed, but he clearly decided not to take the risk and folded himself onto the seat next to Shawn without saying anything. Shawn decided keep quiet as well. Likely they wanted to talk about the same subject, but Josh had both all the information and all the fault, so he could begin the conversation. In front of them, Auggie and Zane dug through the tub of Lego pieces in search of the perfect black one.

“So I don’t know if you heard about the internship,” Josh said.

Shawn looked at him sideways. “What internship?”

“This internship I applied for. It’s with an organization that digs wells in Africa, Topanaga told me about it. Well, I guess, this internship that accepted me.”

Now that he mentioned it, Shawn had a vague memory of someone saying something a few months ago. Was he going to give the punk an out? No. “I did not. How would I have heard about that?”

“Well, I guess—I thought—Maya might’ve said something? We talked about it the other night.”

“Maya doesn’t really talk about you,” he said, twisting the knife a little harder than was technically accurate. “Was this the night you went to coffee and made her cry?”

He meant it to sting; he didn’t mean it to surprise. Josh’s eyes got another line around the edges. “She cried? Why did she cry? She was the one who said—” He broke off and looked toward the kitchen, eyebrows drawn together.

“Why did she cry? Just a guess, maybe she was upset about the news that you’re going to dig wells in Africa?”

“No. No way.” Josh made a slashing motion with one hand. “ _I_ was upset about that, not her. She thinks it’s great.”

“Really. Her red eyes beg to differ.”

“That’s not what she said, though—”

“Well no, it wouldn’t be, would it?” Cold fire filling his chest, Shawn turned sharply and leaned in so he could lower his voice menacingly. “Let me tell you something about my daughter, kay? Hope for her is like that glass unicorn your mother has in her hutch: rare and fragile. She’s spent most of her life with it all wrapped up in bubble wrap in a box in an attic, and she’s better than anyone I know at packing that sucker away at a moment’s notice. If she gets even an inkling she might be in for some hurt? Her gates slam down, wham bang clash, and nothing’s getting in or out.”

“You think I don’t know that? I’ve been watching her a long time.”

“Do you, though? Because if you did you’d know that you don’t just up and leave her, ever.”

“Look, you’ve got it all wrong!”

Auggie and Zane looked up from their Lego tower; Katy and Topanga stopped their conversation at the kitchen table and glanced over, concerned. Shawn put a hand up to signify everything was cool without looking away from the guy presently skating on very thin ice. Josh pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I didn’t tell her I was going to leave. _She_ was the one who told me I have to _go_.”

Shawn slammed on the brakes, rocked by the mental whiplash. “What.”

Josh nodded and rubbed his palms over his knees in a gesture that would have been uncertain if his mouth hadn’t had the stubborn Matthews set to it. “I told her I got accepted, yeah, but that I hadn’t decided I was going to do it—it’s a long time and a long way away. _She_ said to go. Emphatically. Fifty times.”

“She said it,” Shawn repeated.

“Right. I would’ve, gosh, I would’ve—if she had left even a sliver—” Josh shook his head, huffing a breath through his nostrils. His palms moved to the edge of the bench as if to brace himself. “It’s a really great opportunity and a really good cause, I know that. I just thought maybe there might be, I don’t know, a different opportunity? But I guess not.”

Oh. _Ohhh._ So it was—yeah, not what Shawn thought at all. This wasn’t a guy who thoughtlessly expected to be able to do what he wanted without reference to anyone else; this was a guy who had done the best he could and been slapped in the face by the outcome. Adulthood, yes, but never a good time when you came up against it. And he must have been pretty confident about this ‘different opportunity’, too, to put himself out there like that—only to be told that wow, he had it all wrong. Poor kid.

Or _did_ he have it _all_ wrong? Maya might be good at dissembling but she wouldn’t cry unless she had good reason. There might be something else going on here. But he would have to tread carefully to find out. Gingerly moving out of Josh’s space, he tossed out a casual question: “What did she say, exactly?”

One hand went up to cover the nape of Josh’s neck. “She said this was my chance to do good. That’s something—oh, you know.”

“Feeny said.”

“Yeah. But there are plenty of ways to do good.”

“Except you want to do this one.”

“Yes. No. Maybe, but not if it means...maybe I’m kidding myself. Maybe it wouldn’t happen anyway.”

There’s a particular kind of hopelessness that comes from heartbreak; Shawn knew it intimately and could practically wring it out of Josh’s words. “Did she say anything else?”

Another snort. “Just something stupid. I don’t even know if she meant it this time.”

This time? Ah, this time. Shawn let it lay a moment, then, as though it was a non sequitur, asked the million-dollar-question: “What’s the Long Game?”

Josh tensed up. “I don’t know if I should tell you. It’s private.”

“Tell me, and I’ll know if she meant it.”

“You know what? Fine, whatever. I don’t have anything to lose.” Josh huffed hollowly. “She lives her life, I live mine. I know she’s out there, and I’m out there too.”

Just at that moment, thank God, Zane dumped over the tub of Legos and distracted everyone else in the room, giving Shawn the necessary time to get his breath back and blink away the tears that had sprung to his eyes before Josh darted a sideways, desperate glance. Oh, _man_. He had been so wrong.

“That’s not stupid. That’s the most important thing she could say to you.”

“It is?”

“The _most_. I thought you’ve been watching her; you should know. She would never say that unless she meant it.”

The side-eye returned to the front, but the shoulders straightened infinitesimally. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why would she—”

“Look, I don’t understand the rules of the Long Game, but just from what I’ve gathered so far, you both have to live your lives. This internship is the next step in yours. Maya won’t keep you from that. She wouldn’t even want to. No matter how much she wants to.”

Josh appeared to chew this over, the many priorities of wanting and not wanting when you cared about somebody. It took him a shorter time than Shawn expected. Maybe he knew the balancing act from personal experience. After a minute, he glanced back at Shawn, hands clasped loosely between his knees. “So...what do I do now, then?”

Oh, he was so _young_. They were both, still, so young. Shawn looked at the young man beside him and realized he was just about the age Shawn had been when he flew out of New York like a bat out of hell, heading into the night with no goal but _away_. He hadn’t known what to do, then, either; bereft of both the thing he had and any hope for the thing he wanted, he had been lost in the wilderness. But somehow—miraculously—he had found the path and walked it long enough that it had led him, in the end, back home. Josh would, too. If pointed the right direction.

“I can’t tell you,” he said. “You have to figure it out yourself—that’s, like, 80% of how it works. It’s not so much what you do as who you are, in the end. Who do you want to be? And go from there.”

“Who do I want to be,” Josh repeated. Not skeptically, but weighing. “That’s it? That’s all I have to do?”

“Yup,” Shawn said. “That’s it, that’s all you have to do.”

“I can do that.”

“I know you can, kid.”

Across the room, Cory hung the dishtowel on the hook by the sink and gave Shawn a slow, significant nod. Then he said, “Anybody want dessert? Shawn’s dishing the ice cream. He does it better than everyone else.”

Duty called. And it was probably time to get out of here, anyway; he always needed a minute to digest unexpected life advice and figured Josh could probably use the same. But he was a smart kid. He’d get there in the end.

The end—the beginning of the end—came much quicker than Shawn expected. Twenty minutes later, Maya and Riley surfaced after Auggie was sent to tell them about the melting ice cream, clomping out from the bedroom in the platform shoes they still insisted on wearing and making a beeline for the kitchen counter. Sitting on the side of the table that looked out into the room, Shawn had a perfect view of Josh’s one-handed vault over the back of the couch (more endearing than suave, especially as he only barely kept his balance).

“Maya!”

His daughter turned slowly, holding herself very still. “Josh.”

Josh strode forward, pushing Riley aside with the sheer force of his intensity. Shawn’s arm started to go pins-and-needles from how tightly Cory was gripping it. Even Zane seemed to realize something was afoot and fell silent in his place on Topanga’s lap.

“I don’t want that to be how it ends, okay? If that’s what you want, that’s different, but I’m still out there. If it’s here or in Africa. That’s it.” He stuck out his hand and held it there. “Long game?”

Every eye in the room followed his to Maya. Hers fell to his hand. Was she breathing? Was he? Was Shawn, actually? Difficult to say. Then:

Sliding her hand into Josh’s offered one, Maya glanced up with one of her rare, precious, three-cornered smiles. “Long game.”

There you go, Shawn thought. You’re on your way.

* * *

“So,” Josh says, coming to the end of his speech more nervous than Shawn’s ever seen him, “I just wanted to let you know—ask—whatever you’re supposed to do nowadays. I hope you’re not, um. I hope that’s okay. I mean, you know me.”

Shawn looks at Josh across the table—this kid, this young man, who once was a little bitty baby in a Plexiglass box, who had nudged Shawn in the right direction more than once, who did good and was good—and he thinks, my daughter deserves the world and I wouldn’t ask for a better man than you.

“Yeah.” Shawn smiles, pushes his cookie across the table. “I know you.”


End file.
